


Reflections

by zampanox



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Some Fluff, but what is jikupiku if not angst persevering, jikupiku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zampanox/pseuds/zampanox
Summary: It didn’t feel right. Pieck, whose face lit up whenever the two woke up to whirling snowflakes outside their window, shrugging off his remarks about the white dots dancing around them with an impassive response didn't feel right. Despite all his grumbling; Zeke wouldn’t deny the tinge of anticipation that had arisen in his chest at the sight of the first snow, for it promised a moment's tranquility with her in his arms, a blanket wrapped around both of them as they sip from their steaming cups. They had these small traditions, the kind you wouldn’t expect from hardened soldiers and Zeke cherished them all.
Relationships: Pieck Finger/Zeke Yeager
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are much appreciated <3

The brisk north wind engulfed the War Chief as he stepped outside the building, prompting him to wrap his coat tighter around his body. Zeke took in a deep, slow breath letting the raw winter air clear his foggy head. The day’s meeting had been an excruciatingly long one with the Commander dragging on about their position with the Mid-East Alliance for hours until the morning sky coated with off-white clouds left its place to a darker one; the clouds remained, now in a dark gray hazy shade of winter and snow had started falling ever so lightly. 

Zeke took off his fogged-up glasses, cleaning them with the sleeve of his coat while positioning himself against the railing overlooking the courtyard. He reached for his pack of cigarettes as his eyes scanned the doorways around the enclosure searching for a familiar figure yet the only people out in the yard were officers just having left dinner heading to the doors to return to their families or to occupy one of the many stuffy bars around Headquarters. Zeke let out a faint sigh as he balanced his cigarette between his lips and tried to remember the moment of departure. Pieck had been next to him from the moment he woke up until after breakfast and she had been absent ever since, even in the meeting. He cupped his hand around the metal lighter protecting it from the wind then rolled down the spark wheel rapidly several times before, at long last, managing to ignite it and took a long drag. Commander Magath had seemed to disregard the glaring empty chair in the room, and Zeke wouldn’t jeopardize his image as the ever so competent War Chief by inquiring. 

He fixed his eyes on the dim gold light coming out from one of the many lamps around the area, focusing on the snowflakes that had started growing in size; the snow had started gaining more and more momentum now. He leaned forward on the railing, let his hands rest on top of each other on the metal bar, and watched as the snowflakes landed on his skin, on his cigarette, and gradually melted; leaving damp spots on the rolling paper. At this rate, they would have a foot of snow by tomorrow morning. _How inconvenient_ he thought, he had been meaning to train outside for a while; for weeks he had been swamped with paperwork, his back had given up making him feel like a fragile old man. 

Zeke’s attention shifted at the sight of the woman walking towards his side of the courtyard, although the cigarette smoke mixed with frigid air had steamed up his glasses it wasn’t difficult to make out the unique figure illuminated by the warm rays of light. Zeke raised a single brow, she wasn’t in her usual beige military coat but was rather wrapping a black overcoat around her with crossed arms. She made her way to the door next to the blond in swift steps with her gaze fixed to her boots. 

“Oi,” Zeke called out as another wind blew in his direction. The cold stung his cheek while twirling snowflakes made their way to his side of the railing. 

Pieck raised her head to meet the source of the deep voice, waking up from her trance. Her cheeks, as well as her nose, had adopted a faint shade of ruby and tiny white dots had settled in her loose side ponytail, having left damp strands sticking to her forehead. How long had she been walking out there?

“Hey,” she replied nonchalantly with a barely audible voice, climbing up the steps leisurely. 

“We missed you in the meeting.” Zeke exhaled smoke in the opposite direction, “Where have you been?” 

Pieck shifted her weight to one foot, leaning against the wooden pillar standing next to the blond with a sigh, and closed her eyes. “The hospital.”

A weary look that was highly unlike the young woman had shadowed her face. For the bearer of the Cart, a sluggish expression was nothing out of the ordinary nor were prolonged visits to the hospital however something seemed off that Zeke couldn’t quite put his finger on; she seemed smaller in a way as if something were weighing her down. Her father’s doctor’s visits continued, but as far as he was concerned his illness had been stable for a while. Zeke let his cigarette fall from his fingers, stubbing it out with his boot. There had to be something else on the back of her mind, still, he decided not to dwell on the subject for the time being so as to avoid making matters worse on the off-chance that he was mistaken. “My goodness Pieck, that’s how you go out in a snowstorm?” He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck “You must be freezing.” 

“I was about to go to sleep,” she began, laying out her escape route; he wrapped the scarf around her bare neck anyway. He knew better than anyone that she was going to do no such thing, it wouldn’t be the first time he saw through her smiling facade. He knew she would be up until dawn broke, tossing and turning or staring at the wall with vacant eyes; Zeke knew the sentiment all too well. 

“Nonsense. Have you eaten yet?” Once she closed the door to her room, she would be consumed by whatever it was that had been troubling her, and come morning it would be buried deep inside her, just one of the many untreated wounds. With years of experience on the front, he knew if he persisted it would merely cause her to sink deeper into the unresponsive state. It was fine if she didn’t choose to share her troubles with him, as long as she didn’t have to burden them alone. 

“Say, how about we go out?” he said, positioning his hand on her hair, freeing the strands caught in the scarf. 

Pieck’s eyes wandered towards the doorway. Zeke held her gaze for a moment before gently nodding towards the exit then started walking away, leading the way; faint creaking sounds from the old wooden steps followed suit soon after as they always did. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two to spend evenings together in one of the many pubs surrounding Headquarters; drinking, smoking (Although Pieck wasn’t in the habit of it, she did so once in a while to keep him company.), sometimes concluding the night in the War Chief’s room. They were almost out of the building before Pieck suddenly placed a hand on Zeke’s bicep, stopping him on his track. “Could we maybe go somewhere in the internment zone?” she hesitated for a beat, gray eyes scanning the line of buildings around them “I just don’t think I can take it today.” 

Zeke knitted his brows, taken aback by the tone in which she delivered the question; hearing the ever soft, sweet lull of her voice turn hoarse and frail always arose a knotted feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Of course,” he replied without delay; after all their red armbands were no protection against the scowls and sneers of “true” Marleyans and so they turned their steps towards the gates.

It didn’t feel right. Pieck, whose face lit up whenever the two woke up to whirling snowflakes outside their window, shrugging off his remarks about the white dots dancing around them with an impassive response didn't feel right. Despite all his grumbling; Zeke wouldn’t deny the tinge of anticipation that had arisen in his chest at the sight of the first snow, for it promised a moment's tranquility with her in his arms, a blanket wrapped around both of them as they sip from their steaming cups. They had these small traditions, the kind you wouldn’t expect from hardened soldiers, and Zeke cherished them all. 

They strode the dimly lit streets amidst the commotion from the nearly packed up marketplace, the weekly buzz of the Farmers Market had left its place to empty crates and spoiled produce on the stone pavement and the shouts from vendors provided a much-needed background noise to their uncomfortable silence.

Zeke stole fleeting glances at Pieck throughout their stroll to the secluded alley almost as if his pleading eyes could cut through the tension. Pieck showed no response, turned her face towards the wind carrying snowfall in their direction. She always did the same notion when agitated, he could never quite tell if it was subconscious or a means to cool down her heavy heart.

____

A blend of cigarette smoke and the stench of cheap alcohol consumed the two as they stepped down the stairs into the pub, the cramped space buzzing with the usual traffic from the youth inside the internment zone.

A sudden wave of warmth swept over Pieck’s body. The sun had still been shining and burning through her skin as she rushed out of Headquarters that morning which resulted in her being caught off-guard by the sudden change in weather. She felt her muscles relax as she realized just how stiff they had been. 

Pieck loosened Zeke’s scarf wrapped around her neck as she followed him to a booth in a remote corner. On the opposite side of the room, a radio sound rose, carrying out a Marleyan tune; technically people on the other side of the gates weren’t allowed to listen to their stations but when the sun fell everyone quietly changed the frequencies on their radio anyway. 

Zeke unbuttoned his coat but didn't remove it as he slid into the booth then took the liberty of ordering for them both, two glasses of gin and soup for Pieck. The brunette settled next to him, kept her coat on but placed the scarf on her lap then started fidgeting with the fringe; looking for something, anything to occupy her hands.

“I won’t ask questions.” Zeke had learned that the only way to get Pieck to open up was with slow nudges. “Just tell me what’s wrong and we’ll never talk about it again. Not unless you want to that is. ” 

Pieck opened her mouth but then diverted her eyes once again, still twisting the fringe intently with one hand. Zeke found her cold hand under the scarf giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent encouragement “Go on,” This was his last attempt. 

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes in a futile fight against the stinging sensation.

“It’s Bertholdt’s father. He’s in the hospital and-” her voice gave up, forcing her to a halt “and I can’t help but feel that it’s my fault.” 

Once she blurted it out there was no going back and with that, every emotion Pieck had been pushing down for hours came bursting out. The burning feeling won the fight and tears began rolling down her face with a singular sob. “If I-” she ran her fingers across her face in an idle attempt to wipe them away “Maybe if I didn’t leave him there that day-” she meant to pour it all out this time, alas, no sound made its way out. 

Zeke’s body responded at once almost like a reflex, gently tugging at her wrists bringing her closer to his body, Pieck sank down on his chest, burying herself in his shirt as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her sobs formed the shape of a blade, pierced through Zeke’s heart, and started twisting. He threaded his fingers through her raven locks pressing her closer against his chest in a hopeless attempt to steady her shaking body. “You didn’t leave anyone behind Pieck,” he contended as his voice took on a softer, sweeter pitch; the unspoken implication hung between them _And It could’ve very well been her father in his place._

The image in his head was clearer now. Zeke’s family (what remained of it anyway) and Pieck’s were at the opposite ends of the spectrum, still, they did get on. Their passion for each other was the driving force in either family, and everything else fell together like pieces of a puzzle. It was different with her and Bertholdt; bonding over their sick fathers, waiting side by side for hours in front of the hospital. Zeke didn’t understand such sentiments towards one’s parents, but he hoped to understand the grief running through Pieck, to ease her burdens. 

Pieck took in a deep shaky breath as the initial tide slowly drew back, the overwhelming smell of cigarettes mixed with a hint of mint filled her lungs as she squinted her eyes focusing solely on the scent and the hand running up and down her back ever so tenderly. The door to the pub opened every now and then, carrying piercing wind in their direction. Pieck slipped her arms inside his overcoat; yearning for his warmth to consume her, wanting to stay cradled in his arms and forget everything for as long as possible.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m overreacting,” Pieck muttered once she felt confident enough that her voice wouldn’t give up. She wrapped her arms tighter around the man's body. 

“Pieck, no,” as a matter of fact he was amazed at how well she held together after their disastrous failure. “Of course not.” 

“If anything” he tilted her face up gently “It was my ‘fault’, though I wouldn’t call it that, we had no other choice,” Zeke said as he dotingly brushed his thumb over her damp cheeks. The ever so well-spoken War Chief always found himself at a loss for words whenever he caught her in a state such as this. He wanted to handpick the perfect words; he hated how it all came so unnaturally to him. He hoped he was able to convey his message loud and clear through physical contact “And retreating was my decision, wasn’t it?” 

Pieck averted her gaze. Zeke moved his head in the direction of her eyes, catching them once again. “You saved my life that day Pieck,” his hand continued to stroke her back soothingly “Reiner’s too,” he added on an off-note. “Why do you disregard that so easily?” and he meant it. Even if she couldn’t help but grieve over Bertholdt’s father, he wouldn’t let her beat herself over it.

Pieck’s reply was cut short as the waiter approached their remote booth, prompting the two to break apart hastily. Zeke thanked him as he put their orders down.

“I just wish I could do something, anything.” Pieck began dreamily, picking at the bits of bell pepper floating on the soup that Zeke had pushed in front of her. As she watched him bring the glass of gin to his lips she couldn’t help but wonder whether the chosen dish was intentional.

Zeke had never verbalized those three words, and he didn’t need to, Pieck always felt it in the little things. She blew on the spoon full of the steaming red liquid, tardily feeling the clouds over her head starting to clear. Pieck had talked about a foggy memory of her mother making it on winter nights such as that night maybe once or twice (She would be too small to remember anything relating to her but it brought her comfort nonetheless). The dish wasn’t anything special, just select ingredients from the limited options inside the gates thrown together to make the most filling meal possible; sour, spicy, and salty all at once with things that shouldn’t work well together in theory but do, much like the two. 

On one particularly rough night after their first mission to the island, Pieck had attempted to make it for Zeke who had sunk into a state that she had hitherto never seen him in. Her words had failed, so she had tried to bring him out with this seemingly simple gesture. Thinking back, it was almost laughable for she couldn’t cook to save her life. It couldn’t have tasted good, Zeke had eaten every last bite of it. 

The weight that had been placed down on her started lifting little by little at the resurfaced memory, leaving a blanketing warmth dwelling in its place. Pieck gathered bits of smoked meat onto her spoon then raised it to his mouth. A simple sign of affection that couldn’t possibly express her feelings entirely. 

Once he had swallowed Zeke spoke once again, his voice barely surpassing the sound of the radio traveling through chatters, “We’ll return Bertholdt to his father. That’s plenty to do, no?” 

Did he believe it himself? Pieck found it unlikely and yet she allowed herself to be lulled by his words. Though she didn’t need assurances uttered just for the sake of comforting. Simply sitting by his side, hand in hand; it was more than enough. 

Pieck intertwined their fingers once more. “Thank you,” she said, hoping he’d fill the unspoken gaps. 

Zeke gave her a smile. “I’m always here when you need me Piecky.”

And what a fool she was to believe it.

Pieck choked out a bitter chuckle as her vision blurred though not because of tears this time. As the world crumbled to pieces around them where was he? Miles away yet she could feel his illusive hands wrap around her throat, hindering her from drawing in another breath.

Her vacant stares fixed at the two children before her, too young to be a part of it all yet there nonetheless; if she squinted just a little the blinding lights took care of the rest, leaving only blurred lines of a blond and a brunette figure that only have each other to cling to in a world too big for them. _Much like us huh Zeke?_

With nothing to fall back on -no plan to fixate on, no wall to infiltrate- her brain had backpedaled, finally catching up with the muddle that he had left behind. It left no stone unturned; analyzing every memory, every fleeting moment between them searching for something, anything behind the lies that had rolled off his tongue. But what was it that she was seeking, an explanation or the slightest hint that what they had wasn’t all pretend as well? 

“Miss Pieck?” 

Two sets of anxious eyes greeted her as the hesitant voice tugged her back into the room. This time there was no one to hold her through tears, no one to soothe her. She felt she had no right to worry them further with the distresses of her own heart, something that couldn’t possibly match their troubles.

The woman murmured cursory reassuring words at the two before throwing herself on the deck, the urgency for air growing stronger by the second.

Pieck gripped the metal bars hard, watching the waves hitting the boat intently. She had been having trouble naming the feeling circulating through her ever since he turned their world upside down; neither anger nor sadness, just emptiness, lack of energy coming to her and out of her. 

And him? Had he thought about her at least once, felt an ounce of remorse? An endless stream of questions lined up back to back on her mind, grew in size, and made her quiver before it for she could feel the answer was no. 

Everything would be infinitely simpler had she been able to find that spark of resentment in her, had she been able to shoot without hesitating yet every time a faint flame flickered in her it went out before she could reach it, leaving behind ashes of days past. He had crushed all they ever knew and left behind a sick blank that was her. 

She should have loathed him, still, she wished to speak to him. She hoped to understand one day.


End file.
